The Rivera Brothers The Gentlemules of La Capital
by stotans
Summary: Three brothers find themselves in the land of Equestria not as ponies, but as mules. Follow their journey through hardships in order for them to make a new life for themselves in this new land, and possibly find love. I own only my OC's. Reviews welcomed.


His eyes flew open, and he whipped himself in an upright position, vision blurred and his mind in frenzy. The smell of red liquid iron stimulated his senses, and forced him to bolt upright only for him to be jerked right back down by the chains bonding his hands. He felt a blunt pain on the side of his head that put him in a daze. He dabbed at his forehead and found a small gash emitting blood.

"_No lo fuerce." _

The Man turned to meet the voice only to find a Stranger from the left side of the small room; sitting against a wall. The darkness of the room had swallowed him from the neck up; never revealing his face. He seemed to have had the body of a labored man with thin muscles and nearly no fat. His hand and feet were heavily calloused and his clothes were somewhat neat but poor. What struck the Man the most was the fact he wasn't chained.

The Stranger spoke again. _"No lo fuerce. La cadena es demasiado gruesa."_

Then the Man spoke. _"¿Tu hablas inglés?"_

A ping of curiosity raised the Stranger's attention. "Yes… yes I speak English. And you're an American?"

"If it is money or drugs you want, I'm afraid that I don't have anything of your interest."

The Stranger let out a hoarse laugh that struck the Man by surprise. "You give this old man too much credit _Senior_," Does this look like the uniform of _El Jefe_ of the _Cartel_," he asked, gesturing to his poor clothing? "I might not be chained, but I am as much of a prisoner as you are within these walls." The Stranger seem to eye the Man, silently judging him like a rare artifact. "So…are you an American?"

"You seem a little too interested."

"If whoever is holding us is abducting Americans, it would lead to a better chance of being found. If you were a little rich blond girl, we probably would've been found by now," he snorted. "If that is not the case then perhaps if you were born in a rich family it would still better the outcome."

His English was good (with a slight Spanish accent) and his insights were impeccable. Who was this man?

"Sadly I am not what most people consider rich," the Man stated. "I was born in Mexico, but I did study in America. You can say I was a bit Americanized at the time. I lost my Spanish twang and even some of my Spanish tongue. It wouldn't be true to say that I haven't had eyes rolled at me whenever people back home find that I prefer to speak English. The only reason I traveled down here was to visit some family."

"You lost your language? That is not good."

"It was only some of my Spanish."

"If you were losing a piece of your body, it wouldn't seem so insignificant."

That was a subtle way of putting it, the Man thought.

The Man didn't know how, but he felt another presence with them from the opposite side of the room. A person from where the shadow of the light completely engulfed his person. He tried to make out the outline of the Shadow, but he found himself reaching his temples with the slack the chains allowed him. He desperately tried to ease the pain that intensified in his cranium.

"Who's our friend?"

The Stranger shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. He is a complete stranger to me. And terrible company as well. I swear he could put out the sun with his dark gloominess. All his talk about death and despair . . . so depressing."

The Shadow remained silent.

He was either sleeping or worse off, dead.

The man pulled his attention towards his surroundings. He was being held with two other people (with questionable character) in a small concrete cell padded with dirt, chained to a pipe with only a barred window for sunlight, and with no knowledge of where he was or how he got here.

To call this a situation would be an understatement.

The Man cursed started yanking at the padlocked chains. The metal clanging against the pipe echoed violently through the room.

"I already told you to not force it. The chain is too thick. Or is your Spanish really that bad?"

Ignoring the Stranger, his eyes searched across the room. He looked for a metal shard, a rock, hell even a plastic fork, but no.

Nothing but dirt, sunshine, and a Stranger with a Shadow. It sounded like a bad country song. Or a potential book deal.

He finally subsided from the sharp pain emanating from his head, but it stayed on like a bad hangover. Normally a buckshot of Tequila wouldn't have gotten him kidnapped. No.

That would've have had to been something stronger.

"I was drugged."

"You probably were. However that gash on your head says otherwise," the Stranger quipped. "It looks pretty bad." The Stranger proceeded by tearing a strip of his shirt; tossing it in a lump towards the Man. "Here, bandage that up."

The Man was able to work around the chains and managed to tie a decent knot to strap on the bandage.

In true, it wasn't as bad as the situation could get. There were no broken or severed limbs at the least. And as far as the man was concerned, he was lucky not to find himself dead on a freeway somewhere. For now he was just trying to get his eyes used to the semi-darkness.

And then the Stranger spoke. "It seems that we will probably be here for a while. Forgive me if I haven't properly introduced myself, but I believe it would be better for you to not know who I am."

"Everyone has their secrets," The Man said.

"Some more than others."

The Man eyed the Stranger. He didn't know whether to take that as a threat or just as a person being honest. Either way, he wasn't so confident that his cell mate was put here by coincidence.

And then the Shadow spoke.

_Here we are trapped in this pit._

_This is home as far as I see fit._

The Stanger sighed and pinched his nose, muttering to himself in spanish.

The Shadow shifted only amongst the darkness, never coming towards the light.

The Man couldn't help but edge closer to his wall. There was something about his voice. It wasn't the voice of a rational man. It was more demented, more sinister, and more feral. "I wonder how long he's been here?"

"We were locked up at the same time," the Stranger answered.

"I thought you didn't know him."

"I don't."

"How many days have you been here?"

The Stranger shrugged. "I've lost count. But now at least I have some decent company. To be honest, I was getting tired of talking to myself."

_All alone in the icy cold_

_He's lost his mind, so I've been told_

"I can only imagine." The man could only hope the Shadow was chained to something sturdy. "The men that brought is here; I hold no importance to them. What are the chances of them letting me go?"

The Stranger shook his head. "It would be very unlikely. They'll probably find you and tortue you before they start asking you the location of some sports car that's packed to the brim with drugs. And after they find out that you were just some poor sap they somehow mistaken to be a grunt of some rival Drug Lord, they'll probably just kill you off and leave your body in the middle of the desert somewhere for the coyotes to feed off of."

Subtle, real subtle.

"You were visiting some family?" the Stranger asked.

"Yes I was."

"That is good. It will better your chances."

The Man doubted that. "How about you? Do you have any family?"

He started to play with the red sand, grabbing it and letting it leak out from his closed fist. "Sadly no. No blood to call my own that I know of."

"I am sorry to hear. My father just became sick recently. That was the reason why I came to Mexico. I haven't seen him since I went to America."

"What do you remember about him?"

"He was a storyteller."

"A writer?"

The Man scratched his chin in reminiscence. "Not by trade. His work was always done with voice rather than by ink. It didn't put food on the table, but he was quite popular in the villa. The village was filled with good people. Everyone looked after one another. He was a carpenter by trade, and there was always something needed to be fixed or made so we never went without what we needed. And if someone couldn't pay him, he would just tell him to pay when they could."

"Sounds like a better life than here in a cell."

"You don't realize what you had until it is gone. My father wanted me to take over for him after he retired, but I was hungry for something more. I got a visa and stayed with relatives that were living in America. I wanted to try to make a name for myself. I quickly learned that it was easier said than done. But I studied hard, attended citizenship, and attended university in Texas. After my four years I took a career as an editor for a Book Publishing company in New York. Storytelling is in the blood I suppose."

After the first few minutes, the two cohorts decided to pool their respective brains together to finding ways to stimulate themselves and prevent mind numbing boredom. As it turns out, the Stranger was quite the intellectual. They first started having discussions such as the subjects of literature, science, politics, until the discussion suddenly the Stranger told him something that stumbled him.

"You know I'm quite the story teller myself."

"You don't say?" the Man questioned, smiling. He had obviously heard this pitch before. "You wouldn't happen to have a tale in mine now do you?"

The Man could sense the Stranger's toothy grin. "As a matter of fact I do. The best kind there is."

The Man raised a brow in question. Having to sit through the ranting of numerous self-proclaimed writers with who wielded the literary sense and creativity worth a bag of beans had instilled a natural sense of doubt. "And what kind is that?"

The Stranger leaned forward, his face still shielded by shadows. "The kind that makes people believe in something, things such as honor, bravery, chivalry, and the ironic beauty of life."

The Man only shook his head in amusement. He didn't know if he was trapped with a regular _Don Quixote_ or a glib Don No One out to make a easy buck with a life story pitch. Seeing that he was a bit tied up at the moment, an understatment of epic proportion, he decided to just humor him for now. "Honor, Bravery and Chivalry? So this tale . . . it is supposed to make me believe in these things."

The Stranger was grinning ear to ear sensing his doubt. "I'll let you decide on that. For now, allow me to reenact the sole purpose of the book blurb. You editors love those things, yes?" He cleared his throat and began the following:

*Three mules, bonded by blood

*A Medallion with magical properties

*A Daring Adventurer with a secret

*A trusty Assistant

*A Mob boss with a soft spot on his heart

*A Guard, in love with the night

*An Orphan

*A Screw Ball with a Screw Loose

*Bounty Hunters out for redemption

*The ocassional accordian player

*A fire

*A promise

_Trapped in this body I am the seer_

_This one was sick before I got here._

The Stranger sent a glare towards the Shadow. "You are so despicable. Now where was I?" The Stanger pondered on, waving his hand around trying to remember where he left off. "Ah yes of course, how could I forget."

* And an awfully depressing demon.

The Man smirked at that last comment. "It sounds like an interesting story," he admitted. The story did peak his interest. Not enough for a book deal of course. He simply wished for it to be enough to keep him entertained. "For a second there I thought you were trying to toss me your life story. But this . . . seems more favorable. Tell you what, let me check my schedule for today, and if I have some time, I'll sit down and listen to your story. _Comprende_?"

The Stranger smiled and decided to play along. "And how does your schedule look _Senior_?"

"The Man mimicked looking up from his fake watch and shrugged. "What do you know, something just opened up. Go ahead, tell me your grand epic tale that you promised me."

The Stranger clapped his hands together, the sound forced the Man to blink and shook the dust of the crevices of the walls. " Excellent, let us get started. But be forwarned that this story hold much detail so try to keep follow as best as you can. It is absolutely crucial that you do this."

"I suppose I can manage that."

The Stanger leaned forward, the darkness still shielding his face, but his voice growled and paced around the cell, like a panther waiting to pounce. "Very well then . . . let's get started."

Part One of The Ingenious Gentlemules  
>The Rivera Brothers of <em>La Capital<em>.

_Canterlot, where a Princess of the Night takes up duty and reminisces a time when there was no cake._

Princess Luna stood upon the balcony of Canterlot Castle. She had just finished painting the stars on the midnight sky. The Princess of the Night often enjoyed these graceful periods. The night was hers once again, and she planned to paint the night skies in a beautiful scene of stars and constellations that gave night goers a pleasing sight; even if there were only a few ponies that admired her work. Such as the astronomers or simple folk who took it upon themselves to stay awake and gaze upon the night's flowers. After admiring her finished masterpiece, the Alicorn decided that it was the best time to unwind.

Gently she propped herself against an assortment of pillows and finished off by taking a sip of some hot herbal tea and placing it back on the table which also held her crown. She couldn't help but laugh to herself every time she looked at the thing. The way it shined in the moonlight brought shivers down her spine. Even for an immortal, a thousand years is a long time without companionship. And to be thrown back into the kingdom so suddenly seemed almost too much to bear. Equestria was a completely different world now, and she was expected to catch up to it.

She wished her sister could be awake to stare up at the night sky with her. Then memories began to flood back once again. Drowning memories that made her gasp desperately for air: memories of her mind-numbing isolation on a barren wasteland that was her kingdom, with only with a monster for a companion, whispering, always whispering of vile things Luna had no intention on remembering.

There were worst prisons.

She just never thought of any.

Suddenly, a warm feeling enveloped her, pulling her from the cold barren wasteland and away from the whispers of the monster's company. She gave a small smile. She didn't have to turn around to see who pulled her out.

"Good night Tia."

The white alicorn, leaning against the doorway nonchalantly, with bits of cake frosting on the side of her cheeks, drifted back into the doorway leaving Luna to watch over the kingdom that was her home once again.

Once in her blissful state, she was finally able to gain a sense of harmony. Her mistakes have been forgiven long ago. This was her night. This was her domain. This was her home.

However, once she looked up towards her masterpiece, Luna couldn't help but notice a small protruding detail. Off between the constellation of the Hydra and the Brutus the Minotaur shined a luminous mystery that held no significant resemblance to any of her know stars. And what made it more ambiguous was that the light seemed to glow brighter with each passing moment.


End file.
